


the shadows are calling us out

by charleybradburies



Series: it's our resistance // you can't resist us [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Flirting, Blacksmithing, Childhood Friends, Conflict of Interests, Espionage, Eventual Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Issues, First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Letters, Missing Scene, POV Arya Stark, POV Gendry, POV Sansa, Reunions, Revenge, Scheming, Season/Series 07, Season/Series 08, Secrets, Winter, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-04 00:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14007813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: House Stark prepares for the Great War - and for the lives they'll lead when it's over.[title from "heroes" by zayde wolf.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be expanding this series in this fic in the future. Please comment, subscribe and give kudos if you like!! 
> 
> (And if you haven't read the previous installments in this series, please do!)

Days pass far too easily now, Sansa thinks. So much work, and yet little seems to change day by day; so much had yet to be done, and thus they would do the same things every day until the need for them was gone. Sansa leads, and sews, and writes and speaks to other ruling lords and ladies, and spends far too much time _thinking_ ; and Arya trains, and hunts, and sneaks around the castle; and Bran mostly watches, only talking to them when he thinks something he’s seen should be said. Sansa isn’t sure how he decides what they needed to know - he’s already told her there were important things he needed to tell Jon but could not tell them, even though he said it might “change everything” - but the arguments about his knowledge aren’t ones worth having. 

(She does, however, appreciate the notice that Arya will have children someday - even though Sansa’s the only one of them who seems to believe it. Bran’s dream had been of spring, though, and that comforts her. There was plenty of time for things to change, assuming they’d indeed survive - and Sansa needed to assume that they did.) 

However, ensuring that they survive involves a great deal of going through the motions of living. In order not to seem like she and her siblings are scheming, they’d decided they needed to wait for Baelish to slip up - to give Sansa an immediate reason to doubt him. She can’t bring the matter of his betrayal of their aunt and uncle to Lord Royce until he does; she would be incriminated as well, and they cannot risk losing the support of the Vale, especially not if the lords were to support the stepfather of their liege lord over his cousins. Robin had grown fond of her, to be certain, but he adored his ‘Uncle Petyr’ just as his mother had. Sansa would not allow that to impair Jon’s ability to fight and win this Great War for which they prepared. The North intended to protect the Vale, and the Vale must fight alongside them, even if the rest of the Realm would not - and it would not. Sansa had secured a couple of southron houses, but Cersei’s hold was strong and Daenerys was not to be trusted, with or without Tyrion’s support. 

Early one morning, Sansa has woken before it’s time to break her fast, and is sewing a doublet and stewing in frustration, when Bran’s raven comes to watch. She looks over at him on the window - it looks like a glare, she’s sure of it - and he caws, shifting his three eyes towards Ghost, who stands up from his spot near the fire and moves to leave the room. He sits in front of the door and waits for Sansa to open it, and then sprints away after she does. She answers the gaze of the guard at her door, who is looking at her with surprise, for Ghost is as militant in guarding her as Brienne. 

“Let him in when he returns, please.” 

“Of course...my lady.” 

She closes the door and sighs. Another person who was on board with Petyr’s attempt to make her queen, perhaps. Far too many were, and on a couple of occasions, she'd been referred to as such. She’s not particularly surprised, considering that Arya has seen Baelish skulking around trying to convince as many people as possible to oust Jon from the position the lords had given him. As she continues work on the doublet, she tries not to ruminate on the knowledge that the Night’s Watch elects its Lord Commanders - and Jon had been turned on after having been elected to that position as well, as if votes and elections and vows meant nothing. 

Yet, it’s true, as she’s been reminded, that the force of the Vale had not come for Jon; it had been for _her_ , because she had written to Robin and his stepfather. She’d been the one to beseech them, and they had answered - and surely Petyr Baelish thought they deserved more than a well-meaning bastard king for their efforts, but it had not been his choice to make. If Sansa had disagreed, if she had been offended, she would have said as much, but Jon had looked to _her_ , with that dear uncertainty in his expression, for he too had fought for her and not himself, and she’d gladly smiled at him. He was the second son of their father, and just as Robb had been king, it was his right to accept the honor given him by their bannermen. Sansa knew too much of the nature of men to think that the particular circumstances of Jon’s birth made him any less worthy to hold the title. It was true that she had won the battle and not Jon, but she cannot hold her being disregarded against him any more than she could hold her birth as a girl against her mother. 

Perhaps the guard might have meant to call her princess, though, and not queen. That was yet another title she bore in some fashion. She’s simply adopted Petyr’s habit of overthinking everything - this, Sansa already knows. 

She moves from her bed to the one she’d put down for Ghost - a stag’s pelt laid by the fireplace, for when he wished to be near it she hated to think of the cold floor against his paws. She knew, of course, that he was more well-adapted to the cold than even Jon was, but Ghost never refused any care from her or even Arya, somehow understanding that the loss of their own wolves meant they needed him all the more. 

He doesn’t particularly need to protect Arya, though - and besides, Nymeria still lives, and with a pack, same as how Arya belongs, if not in the same place physically. 

_The lone wolf dies, and the pack survives, and Jon belongs here, at home, with **us** , not in the south with Lannisters and a would-be conqueror._

The door opens and startles her, but as quickly as she jolts to face the doorway, Ghost has joined her again. With her sitting so close to the floor, he towers over her at first, but he gently pads over to her, dropping something in her lap before laying down immediately in front of her. Her first instinct is to pet him, but a glance down at her dress shows her the off-white of a roll of parchment, and she reaches for it even as Ghost rolls over onto his back, perhaps expecting a reward for bringing this to her. 

A letter, and from Jon - it’s been sealed with wax, as any letter would be, but there’s no stamp, just a crude etching of a wolf’s head atop the wax, which she suspects is to make clear it was from him and not someone else, though she isn’t sure how Ghost found it. 

She pulls Baelish’s dagger from one of the pockets in her skirts and breaks the seal. The weapon had passed between all three of them here, now, but at some point she should give it back to Arya. When she’s spoken to Lord Royce, perhaps. Arya would want to use it to slit Petyr’s throat. 

The letter’s not in Jon’s handwriting, and it makes her heart ache. He hadn’t even done her that minute kindness. 

_Dearest Sansa,_

__

__

_For all I have done, and all I have failed to do, as a brother and as a king, I am sorry._

__

__

_By the time this is in your hands, Davos and I may be on our way back home from King’s Landing. At the moment, I am about to depart from Eastwatch, and Davos writes for me, as I’m not in the best position to do so myself._

__

__

_We were, ultimately, successful, in acquiring a wight to show to Cersei. I trust the man carrying this letter, but I fear I must clarify the rest of the situation in person. I have managed to get Daenerys to be invested in the threat; unfortunately, she still wants to secure an agreement from Cersei, that a southron war will not be waged until the threat of the Night King is eliminated. As you’ve said, Cersei is unlikely to agree, but I am hopeful - not in the Lannisters, no, but I believe that should Daenerys be sufficiently convinced of my loyalty she will come around, regardless of Cersei’s decision._

__

__

_I will do what I must, and for any way it hurts you, any of you, I am so sorry. The Northern lords will not agree, but my greatest duty is to our people’s survival. I regret that I did not decline the title to begin with; it belongs to you._

__

__

_The North is yours. It is Arya’s, and Bran’s. I will fight for it, but it is not mine to rule._

__

__

_This letter comes to you by a man who has fought with me, a man Davos brought North with us, having met him when he served Stannis - King Robert’s last known bastard, a blacksmith named Gendry._

Sansa doesn’t finish reading the letter before she’s on her feet, rushing to the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so obvs this chapter could/should have been longer, more in depth, etc. but I realized way too late I hadn't even posted anything this month so this is the best that I had gotten this reunion. Sorry if it wasn't what you were hoping for! This might be the most (or second most) anticipated scene in this series and I know it was really short, oops. more development to come! 
> 
> please comment, kudos, etc. especially if you like it and/or have ideas for what you want to see next!

Sansa’s instinct drives her quickly to Bran’s room, Ghost trotting along next to her as she speeds about the corridors. If this was Arya’s friend, too, they needed to find him, wherever he was - and if he was only Jon’s, they still needed him. Bran would be her best chance, seeing as she couldn’t really ask Ghost to take her to wherever he found Jon’s letter. He understood them a fair bit of the time, but he was not so good with questions.

Arya was unlikely to be awake yet, but Bran woke earlier than Sansa on most days, so she might be able to speak to him. Even so, it’s Arya’s handmaiden who catches her knocking on Bran’s door, a basket cradled in her arms.

“Lord Brandon woke early, my lady. He had Lady Arya retrieved to take him to the godswood.”

The strange request tightens her chest in anxiety, but she doesn’t get a moment to think on it before she’s joined by someone else - this time, a guard. The man looks exasperated and amused, like he’s about to laugh at some absurd thing.

“My lady, there’s a man at the gate, says he knows His Grace. Told ‘em he had a letter for you, and Ghost took it. Would’ve sent him away, but...”

The _last_ time they’d tried sending someone away because of who they claimed to be, that person was their lost princess. It was not a mistake a guard was like to make again.

Ghost, in response, trots down the corridor to the guard and then turns back to look at her as soon as the man looks uncomfortable, and Sansa walks purposefully after him, the guard keeping pace with her but taking care not to be closer to Ghost than to her. 

She’d never met Stannis or Shireen, and she’d not known Renly for long - let alone well - but somehow, the moment this guest in her courtyard meets her eyes, with the slightest hint of recognition, that’s quite clearly what she sees - the maiden’s dream that Robert once had been, the image of Robert from Old Nan’s retelling of the war, only less broad than Sansa could recall having imagined. _The last true king’s last bastard._

Sansa and the guard are still stopped, looking out into the yard, when she realizes that Ghost has continued down the stairs and gone over to the newcomer, sitting down next to him as though he were already a friend he should protect. The man offers a hand like one would to a dog, but does not bother to move away from Ghost, and Sansa sees Ghost lick his hand before she passes the guard and speeds down the staircase. 

Most men would have been less comfortable with a direwolf than a woman, but the moment that she approaches this man is the first he visibly seems to be unsure of himself. A guard nearby starts to take a chance at introducing him, but both of them are distracted when, as if on cue, Bran’s raven lands by them. Sansa suppresses her - incredibly unladylike, as she reminds herself - urge to sigh loudly, and pulls the letter from her pocket.

“You must be Gendry,” she says, more dramatically than planned. He quickly affirms the assumption, and looks over at Ghost. 

“Knew that was meant for Lady Sansa, did you?” 

The wolf sits up taller, rather proud of himself, and then stands up just long enough to scoot back towards her, knowing his neck will be right below her hand. Jon would tease her for making Ghost so soft, she knew.

“I’m more surprised he knew where to find you. Clearly someone believes you’re part of the pack already.”

She was trying to be gentle about her prying into Gendry’s business, but his immediate, obvious discomfort is really most of what she needs to confirm that he must be one and the same with Arya’s. Arya had not been home long, after all; news had barely reached Jon.

She bitterly wonders whether Daenerys knows that Arya and Bran have returned home. 

“Perhaps he does,” Gendry answers, a moment too late and in a tone too wistful. “I’ve been told they’re smart like that.”

Bran’s raven caws, drawing their attention, and the uncertainty in her stomach leaves her.

“He might be, too,” Gendry says, pointing at the three-eyed raven. “Came out to see me after Ghost did, like he knew I was coming today.”

“Perhaps someone needs to see you,” Sansa says. The guard who escorted her is still standing behind her, lips pursed uncomfortably, and she speaks to him. 

“We’ll be joining my brother in the godswood.” 

The raven flies off, and as she starts walking, she can hear Gendry questioningly mutter “Bran” behind her, and grins. When she can just barely see the heart tree, Ghost bounds off ahead of them and Sansa takes a deep breath, trying to steel herself for any version of what may come. 

“The blacksmith Jon sent us is here,” she declares loudly when she knows she’s in earshot, sounding more proud than she deserves to be - but for some reason she really is sure of this. 

“Bran is watching something, is that really so imp-” Arya yells back, turning around sharply, stopping as soon as she’s standing straight, her expression like she’s seen a ghost, even more so than when Sansa had said that Bran was alive. 

_Melisandre is not known to leave vulnerable people alive,_ Sansa muses. 

For all his awkwardness at meeting Sansa, Gendry manages to be the first to speak this time, albeit rather quietly. 

“You’re here.”

“You’re alive.” Arya’s voice is harsher now, and her expression less of disbelief than anger. Sansa could cut the tension with the dagger in her pocket. 

“Sorry to disappoint, milady.”

“Do _not_ call-”

“Shall I call you princess, then?”

He almost seems to be teasing, but that’s what incenses Arya, who stomps towards him only to smack him straight across the face. 

Another time, she’ll mock her for how high she had to reach, but now, Sansa nearly shrieks. 

“Arya!” 

“No, Lady Sansa,” Gendry immediately defends, though he touches his cheek gingerly enough they might have to look at it later. “I deserved that.”

“You left me,” Arya yells. “You chose _them_ over _me_ , and they _sold_ you!”

“And I’ve regretted it ever since!”

Arya almost seems like she’ll cry now, but she grows quiet, if only for a moment. 

“You’re alive,” she says again, breathlessly.

“Aye, barely. Thanks to Ser Davos, mostly.” 

Arya glances over at Sansa with a momentary smile. 

“He’s a good man, Ser Davos Seaworth,” Bran finally decides to chime in, as emotionless as ever. 

_He could have told us a million things, and yet he says what we already know. I wonder when he'll decide to be **helpful.**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> idk, it's a thing, so have it. let me know your thoughts and what you want next!

It’s certainly not the first sign of how greatly everything has changed, but Gendry hasn’t been with the maester long enough to clarify the man’s name before the maester’s bow announces her as a visitor. Not a footstep, not a knock - just recognition. 

“So,” she begins abruptly, acknowledging the maester with a nod but not engaging him, “you went back to King’s Landing. After...Stannis and his witch, I presume.” 

She leans back against the window, careful not to be too close to him, attitude as uncertain as his. 

_She and her sister must have spoken._

“Aye. Back to the mainland from Dragonstone, m’lady.”

She purses her lips, rolling her eyes and pretending to examine the maester’s tending of his face. 

“The color should fade soon, my lady,” the maester says behind himself, then looks back to Gendry. “I don’t think you’ll see any _permanent_ damage.”

“He’s survived women worse than me, Maester Wolkan. But thank you.”

“A poor history,” the maester muses, almost teasingly, testing the waters between Arya’s anger and amusement.

“My inheritance, from my father,” Gendry replies, bitterly but with as good nature as he can. The maester nearly chuckles, but Arya’s lips press together in something resembling a smile, and for all that’s come to pass, Gendry might as well be five-and-ten again, barely a boy, nothing but nerve and shame to his name. 

Then, she relaxes, posturing herself less sturdily, and _oh_ , how they’ve both grown. For a moment, they’re just a man and a woman looking at each other across a room in a castle - never mind anything they’ve known before, what’s gotten them there...what could come after. 

“Sansa says you should sup with us. We’ll be in the lord’s chamber, someone can show you where it is.”

“It would be my honor, my lady,” Wolkan says eagerly, “to show…”

“Gendry.”

“Gendry, to the lord’s chamber this evening. And, I believe, to the smithy in the interim?”

“Yes, and thank you, Maester Wolkan,” Arya ends cheerfully, heading now for the door, the swish of leather with her though it hadn’t been before, a sign, perhaps, of not being quite so secretive. He realizes she’s wearing a skirt; somehow, even with far more resemblance to Jon’s clothing than to her sister’s, she seems decidedly feminine. A sign of age, most likely, and completely within reason, yet the realization gives him a strange feeling regardless. 

She turns back to him with the door ajar, looking him up and down, seemingly knowing he’d done the same to her.

“I preferred the proper beard.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this moving really slowly? Yes. Am I going to change that? Maybe. 
> 
> But then what?

Maester Wolkan - reassuringly, a man much like Gendry in his constant awkwardness - takes a few moments to speak with Lady Sansa, then clarifies most of what Gendry needs to know about working their forge. 

A couple of the men already working add details, most of them unfortunate. A few of them have training, but no one has seniority - the last fully trained smith, Mikken, had confirmed after Bolton’s conquest that his loyalty was to House Stark, and now at their lady’s order, Gendry’s being given the helm of the forge. Those already working know enough to be of sufficient help for Jon’s plans, if not quite enough to lead the others, and he doesn’t know there’s any other option, so he agrees. He's reminded that knowledge of his lineage is spreading, and he wonders if this is to be a trend; Jon has already insisted that Gendry had rights to the Stormlands, if not more, and Gendry’s wise enough at this point to know that doesn't mean much good for him. 

Even knowing how horribly things had gone, a single walk through Winterfell’s forge truly makes Gendry wish he’d simply headed for Robb’s service those years ago, any other reasons aside. Fewer people are working the area than he’d have expected, and perhaps that aids the beauty of the castle in shining through, but back when his priorities really did lie with the future of a smithy he’d have given quite a bit for the reins of such an operation. 

There’s no dragonglass yet, but he gets to what work he can, hoping that perhaps he’ll have some more information by tomorrow. By the time he’s talked through some of it with some of these younger men now at his charge, though, the sun is setting, and he has to deal with the discomfort of being noticed. Most of the notice comes from other servants and residents, who simply realize they don’t know his face, and that suits him fine; but many of the men he’s smart enough to assume are lords or knights seem to look at him as though they could recognize him, and he’s not quite as content with that, especially as most of them chose to look from across the yard rather than give him the dignity of introducing himself. It reminds him too much of Stannis’ scrutiny, whereas Lady Sansa’s recognition had been much more in line with her father’s kind questioning of him. 

Lord Stark had wanted him to serve Winterfell, too, he recalls.

He’d expected the maester to retrieve him on his own, but around the time he notes that the sun is just about the horizon, Ghost comes and seats himself on his haunches at the entrance, looking at him in a way Gendry can tell is expectant. 

He turns to the smith nearest him. 

“Do you head to supper right at sunset?”

The man almost looks startled, and takes a moment to respond.

“Supper is usually a bit after, but we’re relieved whenever you dismiss us.”

Gendry tries not to wince, but he’s not sure he succeeds.

“Finish what you’re doing, head to the Hall when you do. In the meantime, I should know your name.”

“Apologies. I’m Brom. An honor to work with you, milord, apologies.” 

This time, Gendry knows he winces. 

“I’m not a lord, just here to serve House Stark like any other man His Grace could have sent. The honor is mine.”

Ghost scrapes a paw against the ground, pulling a small amount of snow towards himself to make his point. Gendry glances back at him, and decides to dismiss himself. Ghost stands as Gendry draws close; as Gendry follows him, earlier echoes in his mind: Lady Sansa’s smile, as though she recognized him, _“clearly someone believes you’re part of the pack already,”_ and the heat at his cheek. 

He chuckles at how easily he could have imagined the scenario, from Arya’s anger to Sansa’s horror at it. His heart skips a bit, and he forces himself to see Davos’ look of warning again. _I’m not bringing you North to lose you, lad. Ask about the Stark girls, or look too long at Lady Sansa, don’t know how well I can keep you. There are a dozen pretty serving girls at Winterfell, besides._ Even having talked to Jon more personally, it remained very clear that nearly all references to his family were off limits. Davos had recounted to he and Ser Jorah the battle against Bolton, and far more to him alone. 

Perhaps he should have thought more carefully about his choices, but then, it was far from the first time he’d done something reckless, and it wouldn’t be the last time he would for House Stark. He knows Jon can understand that much.

The maester happens upon him and Ghost in a corridor, bowing and then turning himself around, looking no less nervous than earlier. Not that Gendry felt any differently; he was just accustomed to keeping himself outwardly collected. Davos had been sure that being in Cersei’s vicinity was safer than Stannis’, but if he’d not learned to be his own keeper, he’d not have been there for Davos to find later. If nothing else, the battle would be fought with better weapons as thanks for Davos’ saving him. 

It’s only the moment that Wolkan’s stopped to knock on a thick door near the corner of the castle’s second floor that Gendry realizes he probably looks like a terrible mess. In King’s Landing, it never much mattered if he waited until bed to get off whatever soot would leave his skin, but now he’s been invited to sup in the lord’s chamber with people that he serves, and he really should have taken more care before simply acting like Ghost’s appearance gave him permission to show up to Lady Sansa’s chambers as is. 

For whatever it’s worth, she directs him to a basin in the corner of the room without blinking, as though she’d have offered the same to anyone, and so casually, and perhaps she would have. The maester hands her a piece of parchment, and Lord (Prince?) Bran nods at him and then Gendry from the spot where he sits by the window. The maester moves his chair so it faces the table next to him instead, and receives a soft thanks, then announces that the hunt should be returning momentarily. Lady Sansa glances down at Ghost, then, smiling again, states cheerfully that Arya should join them soon, placing the parchment down on the desk, atop what looks like the letter Ghost retrieved for her earlier. 

The maester excuses himself to the kitchens, giving direct notice to Gendry as well as to Sansa and Bran, and Gendry wonders if he, too, is convinced Gendry’s to be made a lord. 

What was his right, at this point, especially with Jon going forward as he'd chosen to? According to Davos, he should be one of two kings when the Long Night draws to its close, but he'd never raise an arm to fight for it without instruction. The only great benefit to having leadership was using it. Perhaps that made him better suited for it than some others, but it didn’t make him any more willing or able, especially not if Jon’s given into Queen Daenerys. 

Lady Sansa gestures towards the seat next to her brother, and Gendry obligingly takes it. Bran looks back towards the window, and his eyes roll back into his head, the back of his skull tipping against the top of his chair. His sister sighs, not hiding her frustration. 

“Give him a moment. He’ll be back.”


	5. cursed is the fool who's willing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "river" by bishop briggs.]
> 
> A longish chapter, for once! There's a lot of information that needs to be passed from person to person, really. I tried to put in a lot of the crucial stuff without making it too much of an interview. 
> 
> More to come!

Standing at the looking glass in her chambers, something catches up with her. Arya lets the water drip down her face before drying it, letting it hide the few tears she didn’t stop. 

_“How could I **not** be angry? With...everything?”_

Gods, she felt so silly. So young again. So...she didn’t even know what. She wanted to be capable and fierce, to help Sansa rule the castle, to protect her pack, but she really was just a little girl with a sword, wasn’t she?

She’d only even thought about her friends in depth barely a week ago. Seeing Hot Pie had been a nice surprise, particularly as there wasn’t so much tied up in him, but with Gendry...Jaqen had made her give up on him years ago, just as with her family. She hadn’t, not entirely, of course, no more than she had on Bran or Rickon, but actually having him _here_ was completely out of the range of things she’d imagined. A child’s hope, like Sansa’s love songs. No more than a silly dream. Ha!

She’d wanted him to serve Robb, her _brother_ , her _family_ , to come _home_ with her. He’d chosen to go with Jon, and not just for Davos, and Bran was certain he was some incredibly important person. Not that he’d said that to Sansa, too, who was actually in charge here, so perhaps Bran had only taken their second moment alone earlier to make a point of knowing that Gendry was important to _Arya_ , which seemed terribly unfair. She recalls what Sansa had said about Bran’s musings, and realizes that unfairness is all too likely.

She redoes her bun and slips into clean clothes, wondering only momentarily if she should bother. It wasn’t as though Gendry was a guest they needed to impress, but...she still should, really. If for no other reason than giving Sansa one less annoyed glance to give, she supposes. 

Ghost is trotting towards her when she opens the door, and she stops in the corridor to pet him, continuing, then, with her hand against his neck as they walk.

She knocks but opens the door before Sansa’s answer, hearing a flustered Gendry instead.

“I only need it to be warm, my lady.”

Sansa, sat still at her desk and seemingly looking over some papers, looks up at Arya as she enters, but still responds to him, as Arya closes the door and Ghost goes to lay by the fire. 

“We already have yarns and dyes. If you wish for anything more complex, know it won’t be undeserved effort on my part.”

 _She means a cloak,_ Arya realizes. Sansa was insisting on sewing one for all of them, ones to match their parents and keep them through the Long Night. She’d made similar ones for Brienne and Podrick, even, though she allowed the castle’s seamstresses to make what was needed for most people not actually in their family. 

Sansa turns to her fully, setting away the work and moving to sit by Bran, the Raven in whom appears not to actually be present, and Arya follows suit, trying not to note that the table feels much smaller than normal. 

“How was it today?” Sansa asks, and Arya shrugs. 

“Nothing particularly unusual. Lord Royce shared concern as to how we’ll fare when the dragons are here, though. I wasn’t able to give much comfort on the matter.” She nods towards Bran, and makes herself nod at Gendry, too. Unsurprisingly, he seems nearly as awkward as she feels. She supposes that makes this a bit better.

Sansa sighs, and looks across the table at Gendry, then back at Arya.

“Jon didn’t give us much information about her, let alone the dragons, so most of what we have is still what Bran’s seen in his visions.” 

Even out the corner of her eye, Arya can see Gendry’s brow furrow. 

“He didn’t write about her? I assumed that’s what he had Davos write before they left for King's Landing.” 

Sansa’s look changes to one almost of amusement.

“Oh. No, no. The letter was primarily about you.”

The confusion in the room is heavy, palpable. Bran’s eyes roll back to where they’re supposed to be, and Arya laughs. A knock at the door shakes her out of it, one of Sansa’s maids entering a moment later and setting their table with supper. Sansa grabs the wine, downing the remainder of her cup before filling all four on the table. 

“Should it not have been?” she asks when the maid leaves, and Arya remains amused at Gendry’s surprised expression, but now she hides it somewhat with her wine cup. 

“I’m not the one with dragons and a claim, my lady.”

“Well, not the one with dragons,” Bran adds easily, and the atmosphere changes like he sucked the air out of the room. Ghost grumbles at the fire, and Arya sets down her wine.

“A claim?” she asks, a bit surprised and a bit playful.

“Another part of that inheritance,” Bran confirms, as though it only just occurred to him to tell them things.

“Have you been watching him?” Arya nearly yelps, knowing he references their conversation earlier.

Sansa sighs heavily, leaning her head into her hands. “Brandon!” 

“I watch who I know needs to be seen. Ask for yourself why that is. You know some of it.” 

Arya rolls her eyes, and Sansa snatches up the table’s collective pause to apologize to Gendry for Bran’s interferences. Arya continues as though she’s not heard her. 

“If you tell me you’ve been watching fucking Hot Pie and not Cersei, I swear to all the Gods - ”

“Hot Pie has no claim...we know of,” Sansa interrupts, with both amusement and with a gentleness that somehow surprises Arya, and puts her hand out to cue Gendry to actually speak, though he still hesitates. Clearly aware that both Bran and Sansa know what he’s about to say, he only looks at Arya to say it.

“You found out who your father was,” she supplies first.

“I did, milady,” Gendry confirms awkwardly, and Arya purses her lips. Sansa lets out a quiet giggle as he takes a sip of wine. 

“He, erm...he was King Robert.” 

Arya can’t help a properly loud gasp. 

“That...that explains Cersei and Stannis wanting you.”

“Dead, specifically. Wanting me dead.”

“Stannis wanted you dead?”

“He wanted everyone besides him who had some claim dead. He even - well, he set about doing it. I-”

“None of them were your fault,” Bran says, flatly and clearly, though it puts Gendry off in a way that seems painful to him. “Along with other things I saw the Red Woman’s...schemes...but plans were already in place by people who weren’t Stannis. The fact that they used you doesn’t give you blame for those deaths.”

Arya’s heart aches a bit, even though she’s not quite sure what he means. She glares at Bran and resolves to ask later.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m the one who brought up Stannis but we completely skipped over the part of this that was _King_ Robert.”

“There’s more than one reason Jon sent him here rather than confining him to a Targaryen fleet,” Sansa chimes. “Can’t imagine she’d be any happier than Cersei, regardless of what exactly she is.”

“I’m not sure _she_ knows what she is.”

They all pause again, and Sansa decides to start taking food, gesturing to the rest of them to follow suit.

“As beautiful as we’ve heard?” Sansa asks.

“I don’t know how to answer that; I don’t know what you’ve heard, my lady.”

Bran chuckles, for once. 

“He does make a good point. And no, she’s not.”

“If I wanted a Northerner’s answer, I’d have asked you already, Bran. You have a Northern bias.”

“So did King Robert.”

Gendry winces. 

“With no offense meant to Lady Lyanna, I believe his bias was quite simply towards women.”

“I wouldn’t say so in the crypts, but I don’t believe she’d take any,” Bran says.

Sansa furrows her brow at him, like he’s said something more than that and it’s confused her. Arya can’t tell what he’d mean by that and doesn’t particularly care at the moment. 

_My inheritance, from my father, _she recalls as she takes a bite of some warm bread.__

_Speaking of not understanding men’s meanings,_ she grumbles silently. _Were they only clear when they desired something? Surely not. More like they were just all idiots._

__“So, she’s not beautiful?”_ _

__“Certainly no more than either of you, or even Cersei or Margaery.”_ _

__“Northern biases,” Bran mutters, loudly on purpose, and earns a glare from Sansa._ _

__“Ah, yes. You’d have seen both Cersei and Margaery, living in King’s Landing, no?” Sansa asks for elaboration, clearly more interested in learning about Gendry and his opinions on women than using him to prepare for war. Arya’s content to let her talk, busy trying not to blush at her presumed inclusion in said list of beautiful women._ _

__“Aye, both of them. Margaery was...beloved, truly.”_ _

__Sansa sighs sadly._ _

__“Did you know her?" Gendry asks. "If the rumors were correct, you had gone by Tommen’s time…”_ _

__“Yes, she was...a friend of sorts. And my last day in that horrid city was the day she first became queen. If nothing else, I was glad it was not me.”_ _

__She takes another sip of wine._ _

__“And no, I didn’t actually kill Joffrey.”_ _

__“Hadn’t been planning to ask or judge. It’s not like I was fond of him myself.”_ _

__Arya scoffs._ _

__“You once berated me for freeing us instead of having him killed.”_ _

“That is not _quite_ how I recall it, milady.” 

__“Don’t.”_ _

__“Don’t contradict you, milady?”_ _

__“Don’t call me that. And, no, don’t call me Princess either, stupid.”_ _

__“Arya, honestly,” groans Sansa._ _

__“He knows my name. He can use it.”_ _

__Sansa opens her mouth, seemingly intending to speak again, but instead rolls her eyes and grabs more food._ _

__“Play nice, please.”_ _

__“Do you do that now?” Gendry teases her, clearly knowing Sansa will defend him, and in a moment all four of them are laughing._ _

__“Only when people aren’t being idiots. Bring a weapon to the godswood when we’re done, maybe you’ll see.”_ _

__Another knock at the door, this one unexpected, shakes what there is of a moment. Arya lays a hand on Needle, even though it gets her the expected glare from her sister. Sansa wipes her mouth and goes to the door, joined now by Ghost, whose protection of her is worth moving from his preferred spot in the room._ _

__“Pardon me, my lady,” says some maiden whose face Arya doesn’t know in any depth. “I was asked to inquire as to your well-being.”_ _

_Who in -_

__“Tell Lord Baelish she’s perfectly fine,” Arya says, and the girl grows visibly tense._ _

__“Arya,” Sansa admonishes, then turns back to the other girl. Arya looks back at their table._ _

“My siblings and I are simply having supper. If someone worries for me, they can speak to me themselves. Thank you for being so agreeable to ask,” she says sweetly, before dismissing the girl. As soon as the door’s closed, Arya can feel the glare. _Their mother’s glare._

__“She’s only a servant. She’s not doing anything wrong.”_ _

__“If you say so. I suppose you’ll find out later what she tells him.”_ _

__Sansa sighs, and finishes off her cup of wine. She offers to fill others before her own; only Gendry accepts._ _

__“There was a Baelish in King’s Landing at some point, was there not?” he asks._ _

__“One and the same. He was master of coin for your father, and then Joffrey...and he ran a brothel.”_ _

__Gendry takes a moment to consider that. If Arya wasn’t still mad, she’d laugh at his expression. She’s debating it when Sansa takes a deep breath and sits back down._ _

__“He might try to befriend you, particularly if he thinks you have noble intentions. I don’t suggest you let him. We are...at odds with him.”  
Arya and Bran both scoff at her very kind way of stating that, and Arya rolls her eyes._ _

__“Put simply, he’s on the list.”_ _

__Gendry nods in realization. “Along with Cersei, and who else at this point?”_ _

__“The Mountain. Maybe Beric and Thoros.”_ _

__“Not Thoros,” Gendry says. “Thoros died above the Wall, a few weeks ago. Beric’s on the Wall still, at Eastwatch where the wildlings are.”_ _

__“You saw them again?”_ _

__“They went above with Jon, too.”_ _

__“That wight hunt,” Sansa muses, and Gendry nods - a bit awkward again, as though in the realization that she knows what a bad idea it was._ _

__“They and the Hound, and a few others. One of the wildlings, one of Queen Daenerys’ men.”_ _

__“The Hound is alive?” Arya asks, thinking of the last time she’d seen him._ _

__“And was with Beric and Thoros. I didn’t ask for details. They, though, asked for more than I cared to give.”_ _

__“He went South with Jon,” Bran chimes in. Arya chuckles._ _

__“Brienne and Pod must have had quite a surprise.”_ _

__“They’re on better terms now. He was pleased to find out you made it home.”_ _

__Sansa grumbles, reading between Bran’s lines._ _

__“Davos was very clear about men’s safety around Jon to those who went above the Wall with him,” Bran adds while looking directly at her, and Sansa groans again._ _

__“I do prefer my head atop my shoulders, my lady,” quips Gendry, and Arya laughs. Sansa rolls her eyes but then joins Arya in laughing anyway._ _

__“Please, do keep it there.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment/kudos/subscribe!


End file.
